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Class __ . J- 1'— 
Book_Jt-i-LJi™. 
Copyright N»__iiXi 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE SPIDERS 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 

HILTON R. GREER 

Author of "Sun-Gleams and Gossamers 



1Q06 



PUBLISHING HOUSE METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH. SOUTH 
.'. Smith & Lamar, Agents. Nashville. Tenn., Dallas, Tex. .' 






rUBSARYofOONeRESS 
Two OoDles Received 
WAR 4 190; 

^ Oopyrlsfht Eniry 

ciASS A xxc, ito. 

/7o jr^. 



Jo jr^. i 

COPY i3. ^^^ I 



Copyright, 1906 

BY 

Hilton R. CiREER 



THE SPIDERS AND OTHER POEMS 



^a ti|r mrmor^r of Mvi Matiitt 



For permission to reprint a number of poems in 
this volume thanks are due the Delineator, National 
Magazine, Smart Set, Lippincott's Magazine, Sunday 
School Times, and other pubHcations in which the 
verses originally appeared. 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

The Spiders ii 

Dust of Stars ........ 13 

To Any Scoffer 14 

Memory 15 

A Village Street 16 

The Gift 18 

After Much Wandering ....... 19 

Stanton ......... 20 

Shore Lights 21 

Seedtime 22 

At Harvest 23 

After Storm 24 

The Truest Thankfulness 25 

At the Stable Door 26 

To a Little Child 28 

Quatrains 29 

Forgetfulness 31 

Out of the Dusk 32 

A Smile and a Song 33 

Then and Now ........ 34 

The Bubble Chaser 35 

Who Dwells with Nature 39 

Conquest 41 

An April Lyric ........ 42 

Inter-Pines 43 

The Hills of June 44 

7 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

A Garden Romance 46 

The Goal 4^ 

At a Mockbird Matinee 50 

To a Blasted Pine 53 

The Thunderstorm ........ 55 



A Crossroads Schoolhouse 
The Hush at Harvest 
The Wood Gypsy 
A Health to October 
And One Had Love 
Love's Hour . 
Memorial Day 
Blossoms of May 
Castle and Cabin. 
Song of a Summer's Day 
Carita .... 
The Conqueror 
One Golden Day. 
Where Love Holds Sway 
Buenas Noches, Senorita 
To a Red-Haired Maiden 
An Autumn Lure. 
An October Song 
A Rose of Yesterday . 
A Lover's Question. 
A Dream in the Dusk. 
Texas .... 



56 
59 
60 
61 

65 
66 

68 

69 
70 
71 
75 
76 

78 
79 
80 
81 
82 
84 
.85 
93 



THE SPIDERS. 



THE SPIDERS. 

Close by Life's gardenside, 
Silently, ceaselessly, 
Tangling the hearts of men 
Deep in its meshes, 
Spinneth a spider. 

Silently, ceaselessly, 
Weaving a web that is 
Fashioned of filminess, 
Sun-gleams and gossamers 
Dew-pearled and odorous; 
Weaving a web that is 
Frailer than mist at times. 
Steel-strong at others, 
Tangling the hearts of men 
Ever and hopelessly 
In its soft thonging, 
Spinneth the blithe-footed 
Spider of Love ! 

Close by Life's gardenside, 
Swiftly, relentlessly, 
II 



THE SPIDER. 

Stifling the hearts of men 
In its thick meshes, 
Spinneth a spider. 

Silently, ceaselessly, 
Swiftly, relentlessly, 
Weaving a web that is 
Dull-hued and lusterless; 
Weaving a web so dense 
Yet so impalpable, 
Soft and insidious, 
None may escape it — 
Spinneth the thousand-eyed. 
Eager, implacable, 
Gray, gaunt, and terrible 
Spider of Death ! 



12 



DUST OF STARS. 

Men are but clods incarnate, we are told ; 

Frail creatures, fashioned of a common clay. 
But soul-filled soil which, to the mother-mold 

From whence it sprung, one day returneth. Nay 

Fashioned of dust are we, but dust of stars ! 

Why else this beating of wild spirit-wings, 
Striving to break earth's sordid prison bars 

And soar, sod-spurning, unto astral things? 



^3 



TO ANY SCOFFER. 

Out on you, babbler ! You, and all your breed 
Who dare assail the potency of rhyme! 

Saying the bard's best songs but go to feed 
The insatiate hunger of the tapeworm, Time ! 

Know'st not, O fool, Time woke with song ? That life 

Itself is one long epic, years on years, 
Pulsing with martial measures, stir of strife, 

And changing cadences of smiles and tears? 

Know'st not that spirit which, from David's lyre 
Outbreathed, drove demons from the breast of Saul. 

Has in it something of a living fire 

Which shall endure no little while, but all ? 

Yea, not for now, nor unborn years alone ; 

But when Earth's little peoples cease to be. 
The soul of Song shall echo round God's throne 

Through endless eons of eternity ! 



H 



MEMORY. 

Shrined in the inmost chamber of the heart 
There is a vase of sheer and beaten gold, 
A fragile thing and exquisite, wherein 
The fairest flowers of departed Junes 
Are kept perennial — the slender vase 
Which men call Memorv! 



15 



A VILLAGE STREET. 

Where swaying branches lace and meet 

In canopies of green 
Above an old-time village street, 

Quiet and cool and clean, 
The mellow sunbeams filter slow 

And, interwrought with shade. 
Trace on the velvet sward below 

A shimmering brocade. 

No sound disturbs the holy hush 

That wraps the silent street 
Save when at times some trill of thrush 

Drifts tremulously sweet; 
Or else, when purple twilight flings 

A gauzy veil and thin, 
Wake echoes from the tinkling strings 

Of mellow mandolin. 

This is the street, serene and sweet, 

Down which in days agone 
I tripped with bare and buoyant feet 

Tlirough dews of dusk and dawn; 
i6 



A VILLAGE STREET. 

Or romped at play with comrades gay 

While some long afternoon 
Droned slowly, drowsily away 

Like bees in fields of June. 

Old quiet street ! the steps that learn 

The city's crowded ways 
Once more and eagerly will turn 

To scenes of other days, 
And, sick of ceaseless fray and fret, 

Cacophonous and rude, 
Will seek, while eyes grow dim and wet. 

Thy restful quietude! 



57 



THE GIFT. 

One gift he claimed as his and, miser-souled, 
Kept it close-prisoned, lest on sudden wing- 
It seek some day a keeper new, and leave 
His life all gleaned of joy and colorless ; 
But looking in one morn, solicitous. 
Viewed, horror-eyed, a puny, shriveled thing, 
Yo'icX of all grace and strength and loveliness. 

Wide-flinging then the door that prisoned it, 
He bade it seek the outer, ampler airs, 
The stretching world ways, teeming haunts of men ! 
But ere the day had waned, it came again. 
Back to the selfsame door that prisoned it, 
And he who waited, leaping, flung it wide 
With eager, trembling fingers — and beheld, 
Not the one hoarded gift, but ten instead ! 



i8 



AFTER MUCH WANDERING. 

Some day when you're tired of the toilmg, 

And sick of the stress and the strain, 
When you've mingled Life's rue with its hyssop, 

And eaten the fruit with the husk, 
You will follow the footprints of Fancy 

Down some old-fashioned garden again, 
Where the hollyhocks flame and the roses 

(ileam white on the breast of the dusk I 

And you'll think on the years that were wasted 

For the place that you purchased with peace. 
Of how hollow a bauble is glory — 

ITow fleeting the guerdons you gain ; 
And your eyes will grow blind with the blurring 

Of sorrow that knows not surcease. 
Some day when you're tired of the toiling. 

And sick of the stress and the strain. 

For the world may be yours for the winning. 

And the prospect stretch broad to the view. 
But the fruit that shone fair in the distance 

Seems shrunken when grasped in the husk, 
And your spirit, God knows, wall be weary, 

And you'll long for the peace that you knew 
Where the hollyhocks flame and the roses 

Gleam white on the breast of the dusk! 
19 



STANTON. 

When Stanton, up in Georgia, tunes his magic lyre 

and sings, 
The very air grows murmurous with rhythmic riot- 

ings! 
The Hsp of leaves and scent of sheaves blend in his 

song's refrain, 
The hum of bees in locust trees and meadows drenched 

with rain; 
Beneath his spell Life's pathway lies through sunlit 

fields of June, 
Where Time trips lightly onward to a banjo's tinkling 

tune, 
And sluggish aims grow stronger, and newborn hopes 

upstart, 
And burst to bud and blossom in the gardens of the 

heart ! 

O Stanton, up in Georgia! O singer, strong and true! 
Here's one in Texas drains a bowl in hearty health to 

you! 
Long may you live to bless us and drive our woes 

away 
With songs that breathe the redolence and riotry of 

May! 



20 



SHORE LIGHTS. 

As one, adrift on some tempestuous deep. 
Of friendly port or favoring gale denied, 
Where black night rules, nor star-gleams wake to 
guide. 

And wind and wave demoniac revel keep ; 

As such an one might gladly note the sweep 
Of beacon light athwart the tossing tide 
And feel within the doubt gates sundered wide, 

And joy unpent through all the pulses leap — 

So oftentimes on Life's uncertain main. 

When, tempest-lashed and wrapt in ray less night. 
With v/arring winds and hostile waves we cope. 
And, struggling, sink — and, sinking, strive again — 
There burst like beacons on our dazzled sight 

The lights that mark the smiling shores of Hope! 



21 



SEEDTIME. 

Haste ye, my soul, for the sowing 
Deep in the garden of years ; 

Truths that may grant ye in growing 
Meed for the toil and the tears. 

Long have the furrows lain fallow, 
Waiting the husbandman's share ; 

Haste to thy task, while ye hallow 
All of the plodding with prayer. 

Haste ye, my soul ; on the morroW 
Season and sun may be past. 

Haste ye, lest sighing and sorrow 
Strangle the seed that ye cast. 

Haste, while the green ways are glowint 
Off with vain doubtings and fears. 

Haste ye, my soul, for the sowing 
Deep in the garden of years. 



22 



AT HARVEST. 

When comes Life's autumn time — as come it must, 
Some not far-distant day, to you and me — 

What shall we tell the Landlord of our trust, 
What shall we yield Him of our husbandry? 

Shall we bring ruddy vintage, stores of corn, 
Rich golden harvests from the yester-lands, 

Or shriveled sheaves, inmixed with tare and thorn. 
Or greet him, sadder still, with empty hands ? 

Ah me ! when comes Life's autumn — as it must. 
Some not far-distant day, to you and me — 

What shall we tell the Landlord of our trust. 
What shall we yield Him of our husbandry? 



23 



AFTER STORM. 

As some frail reed, that through a night of storms 

A stricken suppHant Hes, 
Helpless, submissive, spent with vain alarms, 
Yet quickened, strengthened, robed in fresher green, 
Lifts to the wind beneath the blue serene 

Of cloudless morning skies — 

So souls that, stricken in the gloom of grief, 

Bow to the storm-swept sod, 
Chastened and cleansed and clothed in newer leaf 
Of hope and trust and all-abiding strength, 
From the low earth may lift themselves at length 

In the clear lisfht of God ! 



24 



THE TRUEST THANKFULNESS. 

Nor song, nor speech, may fittingly express 

The soul's deep thankfulness; 
There is a gratitude which stands confessed 
In lips slow-trembling, and in heaving breast, 
Which speaks, up- welling in the unbidden tear 
It is the most sincere ! 



AT THE STABLE DOOR. 

Awed by seraphic strains 
That stir and thrill the still Judean plains, 
Lured by the luster of a strange, new star, 

From alien lands and far — 

To this low stable door 
Throng simple peasants, wizards learned in lore 
Rich gifts of frankincense and myrrh they bring- 
To aid their worshiping. 

For one rapt moment's space 
Their glances sweep the shining stable place, 
Note the low rafters and the littered stall, 

Then, dazed and blinded, fall ; 

For, waking on their sight. 
Has burst a vision of celestial light 
Where lies, encradled in a manger dim, 

The Babe of Bethlehem ! 

A moment's space, then each 
Is bowed in homage far too deep for speech; 
The homage, hollow words may not express. 

Of speaking silentness. 

26 



AT THE STABLE DOOR. 

Little you dream or know, 
Shepherd and sage in worship bended low, 
What paths of pain these bab)^ feet must tread, 

What crowns must deck its head ! 

Not yours to pierce the rift 
Of years where grim Golgotha's crosses lift, 
To know this Babe of Bethlehem must be 

The Christ of Calvary ! 



27 



TO A LITTLE CHILD. 

Could I but go before a little way 

Along the road your tender feet must fare, 
And put aside the bramble and the tare 

That wait io wound you on a later day ; 

Mark the low paths that, luring, lead astray 

With sight made clear long since in sterner air, 
Point out the pitfall and the hidden snare 

That lurk to bring you sorrow and dismay : 

Could I but go a little way before — 

Untutored child heart! Trusting innocence! — 
How gladly would I suffer for your sake 

Old wounds reopened to the keen, quick core ! 
All-pitying God ! that such soft feet should take 

The long, hard highway of Experience ! 



28 



QUATRAINS. 
Cones. 

The tree of Time a pine is, green and tall, 

Whereto, like clustered cones, we cling and cleave 
Our little season. Ah, God grant we leave 

Some after-breath of fragrance when we fall ! 

At Dusk. 

O'er-ripened Day falls from its fading husk ; 

And look! where Sunset loosed her rosy bars, 
Deep in the purple pastures of the dusk 

A wan moon-shepherd leads the straggling stars !^ 

Lost. 

Across the hot Sahara of the sky 

Long caravans of cloud, slow- winding, crawl ; 
Wild Bedouin winds sweep down with sudden cry, 

And the deep desert blueness swallows all ! 

Challenged. 

Pray, spend thy scorn, old Time, and wreak thy wrath \ 
Why should I reck though Fame and Fortune flee. 

If the blithe beggar, Love, along Life's path 
But choose to comrade me? 
29 



quatrains. 

Candelabra. 

To the hushed house of dead Midsummer, lo ! 

Sandaled with silentness, October comes 
And sets each dusk-dim corridor aglow 

With candelabra of chrysanthemums ! 

Antlike. 

Man's but a little ant, say you, that crawls 

Down Time's hot, tortuous highway ? Yea, in sooth ! 

But not for naught if, haply, he but bear 
Some fallow field one golden grain of truth ! 

The Trumpeter. 

Blaring with bronzed lips till aisle and arch 
Of wood and sky with sounding echoes stir — 

Hark where, hard-galloping, rides trooper March, 
The young year's trumpeter ! 

April. 

And now comes April, fair and fickle maiden. 

Fit prototype of Life's vain hopes and fears ; 
One moment bowed in grief and sorrow-laden. 

The next one smiling bravely through her tears! 



30 



F0RGETFULNES3. 

I PLUNGED me deep within a solitude 

Of gloomy wood, 
Where I might rid me of the wild unrest 

That clamored in my breast. 

But ever keen remembrance followed me 

Relentlessly, 
And all the lisp of leaves and south wind's strain 

Seemed but to mock my pain. 

So, quick I turned, and sought with hasting feet 

The surging street. 
And there amid the unceasing strife and stress 

I found forgetfulness. 



31 



OUT OF THE DUSK. 

Out of the dusk — a song, 
A mellow cadence, touched with tenderness. 
And sweet with solace as the soft caress 
Of mother lips that bowed them but to bless 

In twilights vanished long. 

Out of the dusk — a song, 
A mist of melody more silver-sweet 
Than rune of rain in poppied fields of wheat 
To one who, loitering w4th slow-lagging feet, 

Halts in the surging throng. 

Out of the dusk — a song, 
Wafted from unseen lips, a breath of peace 
That brings the dim-eyed dallier release 
From thonging sorrows and a sweet surcease 

Of wrath and woe and wTong. 



32 



A SMILE AND A SONG. 

Give to the world a smile. There is enough, 
God knows, of sullen scowls and churlishness ! 

What if thy footsteps fare through highways rough — 
Can futile frowning make thy burdens less? 

Nay, though thy secret soul be sad the while, 
Give to the world a smile ! 

Give to the world a song. The very air 

Seems charged with keen complainings and with 
sighs 
That are but echoings of dark despair. 

What if a surly sun forsake the skies. 
Or if thy pilgrimage be overlong? 
Give to the world a song ! 



33 



THEN AND NOW. 

The olden days 

Were the golden days — 
Aye, they were fair, I know — 

But the present days 

May be pleasant days 
If only we make them so. 

If the heart be light, 
All the days are bright 

As skies in the blossomy May 
If the soul be rent 
With a discontent, 

Why, all of the days are gray. 

A smile and a song 
As we journey along 

May brighten the way a bit. 
For the world is a stream 
That will gloom or gleam 

In turn as we look at it. 

Aye, the olden days 
Were the golden days. 

Freighted with joys, I know; 
But the present days 
May be pleasant days 

If only we make them so. 
34 



THE BUBBLE CHASER. 

To her side one day the mild-eyed Mother 
Called her Best Beloved, and for his joyance 
Blew from out a slender reed a bubble 
Like a sphere of sheer, pellucid silver, 
Shining with the seven hues of heaven, 
Miracles of color — rose of morning-. 
Tawny tints of noonday, twilight purples, 
Emerald glintings like the summer sea's breast. 

And the Best Beloved, with eyes enchanted. 
Watched the radiant sphere go floating from him 
Then with lips disparted, childlike, eager. 
Started forth on flying feet to follow : 

Far and far the burnished bubble lured him ; 
Onward still, and onward, ever onward. 
Near at times, yet, phantomlike, eluding- 
Trembling, straining hands upraised to grasp it ; 
Onward still, and onward, till its luster, 
Blending with the bending heaven's blueness, 
Vanished from the range of yearning vision. 
35 



THE BUBBLE CHASER. 

So, with eyes grown pitiful with sorrow, 
And with feet oiitwearied from pursuing, 
Turned he then and sought the mild-eyed Mother, 
Who, with heart made tender by compassion, 
Loving arms outstretched, and to her bosom 
Strained the weeping child and gently told him : 
"Know, my Best Beloved, this shining bubble 
Which afar on flying feet you followed 
Countless others have pursued before you, 
Sometimes touching, never all-possessing ; 
Keats and Poe and Shelley, all my children. 
Chased such silver bubbles and, despairing, 
Knew the glory of immortal longing ! 
'Tis the spirit of elusive Beauty, 
Real in seeming, but as evanescent 
As the rose tint in the clouds of sunset!" 



36 



WHO DWELLS WITH NATURE. 



WHO DWELLS WITH NATURE. 

Who dwells with Nature, clasps her hand 

In cordial comradery, 
Her best bestowals may command ; 

No niggard hostess she. 

With lavish grace she offers up 
All wholesome gifts and good ; 

She bids him drain her sparkling cup 
And share her daily food. 

A roof of blue she arches o'er 

As shelter for his head ; 
Spreads for his feet a fragrant floor 

With pine cones carpeted. 

She drapes his couch in curtains cool, 

Of sheer and lacey mist; 
A mirror makes of some still pool 

By shifting shadows kissed. 

She wakes wild melody in sounds 

Of silver-singing rills ; 
The hoarse-mouthed bay of distant hounds 

At dawn among the hills. 
39 



WHO DWELLS WITH NATURE. 

Wielding a magic brush, she spreads 

Rare pictures for his eyes, 
And dazzles with warm golds and reds 

Of Autumn tapestries. 

She opens wide her book of days, 
A classic clasped with gold; 

Creation's moving tale displays, 
And legends weird and old. 

She leads him to some cloistered shrine, 

Shut in from sordid gaze, 
Where deep-toned organs of the pine 

Chant solemn hymns of praise. 

And as he bows in worship there. 

She sets his spirit free 
From sordid care, and bids him share 

Her sweet tranquillity. 



40 



CONQUEST. 

Spring and Winter met one da}' 

Near the huddled hills — 
Scant his locks as lichens gray ; 

Spring's, like daffodils. 
They were known as open foes 

Over all the earth. 
Spring detested ice and snows ; 

Winter, blooms and mirth. 

Long his tense and tyrant clutch 

Prisoned fen and field. 
Long the streams to bar his touch 

Raised an icy shield ; 
Spring, to break their fetters free, 

Summoned all her charms, 
All her wondrous witchery 

To take the King of Storms. 

*'May I pass, kind sir?" she said. 

Beaming, blossom-wise. 
Up at him with lips of red. 

Eyes of April skies; 
Winter wavered, loath to go. 

Smiled and stepped aside, 
Bowed his head and, bending low, 

"Certainly!" he cried. 
41 



AN APRIL LYRIC. 

Burst of bud and miracle, 

Of snowy orchard blooming; 
Lures of laughter lyrical, 

Flung from tinkling rills; 
Stir and swish of swallow wing 

And purple lilacs pluming ; 
Wake, my soul, for following — 

'Tis April on the hills ! 



42 



INTER-PINES. 

Far from the fevered fret of trade and town. 

Far from the noontide's pulsing hum and heat, 
Past stream and stile, up shaly slope and down, 
A dim path winds 
And, winding, finds 
Deep in the pines a cloistering retreat 
Where ripened cones and needles crisp and brown 
Outspread a fragrant carpet for the feet. 

Like ancient monks, uplifting priestly arms 

High overhead in blessings murmured low. 
The pine trees stand ; and all life's vain alarms, 
Its wild unrest 
Of brain and breast. 
Speed swift as blooms when winds of Autumn blow, 
And in their stead, as silence after storms. 

Glides gentle Peace with noiseless tread and slow. 

The cravings keen for all the vain may vaunt, 

The tense desires for worldly power and place. 
Find sweet surcease within this holy haunt 
Where, spreading wings 
From sordid things, 
The soul mounts upward for a tieeting space. 
While winds and pines lift grand cathedral chaunt, 
And meets its God and Maker face to face. 
43 



THE HILLS OF JUNE. 

Cry truce in the struggle for place and gain, 

With its stress and its din and glare ! 
And it's off with the pangs of a nameless pain, 

And the gyves of a dull despair, 
And it's out for a day in the ampler air 

To the lilt of a lightsome tune; 
O, it's hey and away from the house of Care, 

i\nd it's ho for the hills of June ! 

When the ways rang shrill with the wild refrain 

Of the North wind's trumpet blare. 
It were well to house from the roar and rain 

And the joys of the field forswear; 
But now when the sun spreads a golden snare, 

And the dawn flings a balsamed boon — 
O, its hey and away from the house of Care, 

And it's ho for the hills of June ! 

For a breath of balm for the breast and brain, 

Let the buoyant footstep fare. 
Through the meadows wide and the spangled 
plain. 
By the song-sweet hedge to where 
44 



THE HILLS OF JUNE. 

A dim path winds like a spiral stair 
Up, up, where the dark pines croon ; 

O, it's hey and awa}^ from the house of Care, 
And it's ho for the hills of June ! 

Envoi. 
Have done with the laurels that Fame may share, 

Like youth they are fled too soon ; 
O, it's hey and away from the house of Care, 

And it's ho for the hills of June ! 



45 



A GARDEN ROMANCE. 

A DEVVDROP lay on a leafy spray 

In the rosy morn of a summer's day, 

And the wee coquette with a shy glance met 
The flashing eye of the Day God, set 

In the heavens old like an orb of gold 
Whose beaming burnished the blossomed wold. 

He, wise old beau, for an hour or so 
Bethought to flirt with the wight below, 

And the court he paid to the mist-born maid 
The robins watched from the scented shade. 

How the sun would smile at the dew the while 
And her thoughts from earth to the skies beguile ! 

How the dew would blink at the sun and wink 
And change from opal and pearl to pink ! 

Till a moss-rose cried, near the dewdrop's side : 
"False one, thou hadst promised to be mv bride! 

46 



A GARDEN ROMANCE. 

But the rose must sigh with no dewdrop nigh. 
And droop and wither and fade and die!" 

When the dewdrop heard, quick her sHght form 

stirred. 
And she sprang to his heart Hke a frightened bird ! 

And when Ladye Grace in ye robe of lace 
Came tripping down through the fragrant ways, 

She found — it is said — in the garden bed 
A red, red rose and a dewdrop wed ! 



47 



THE GOAL. 

When blue-eyed Morn fares forth on fairy feet 

From out the envermeiled east, 
And chaste-lipped blossoms lift confession sweet 

To the great sun, their priest ; 
While the deep world-heart throbs with waking bliss 

And wild birds sing, and singing, soar the blue — 
Ever my songs upon the day's first kiss 

Go speeding, love, to you ! 

Or when, betimes, in gilded halls of noon 

The day sits throned in state 
While amorous winds to fragrant fields of June 

Breathe vows inviolate; 
When the slow hours in languid currents glide 

Like soundless streams with sungleams thridded 
through — 
Then all my dreams upon the drowsy tide 

Go drifting, dear, to you ! 

And when Eve stands upon the blue day's brim 

Where Night's dim courtiers bow, 
Thronging with dream-shod feet to diadem 

With stars her duskv brow; 

48 



IHE GOAL. 

When from the heavens fades the last faint fiush 
And distant tinklings drown in seas of dew — 

My thoughts go winging through the scented hush 
Always, my sweet, to you ! 

Always to you, for you, incarnate, hold 

Mom's virgin charms, and weave 
With all the Moontide's regal heart of gold 

The tawny tints of Eve ; 
Always to you ! In Daytime's transient gleam 

Or when Night stalks with somber retinue 
The goal and theme of all my song and dream 

Shall ever, dear, be you! 



49 



AT A MOCK BIRD MATINEE. 

Ever spend an afternoon 
Of a day in jocund June 
At a mockbird matinee? 
Never ? Honest ? Well-a-day ! 
Where've you lived at, anyway? 
Not a quicker cure for care 
Manufactured anywhere ; 
Not a better balm for blues ; 
Not a dull soul but will lose 
All its sluggishness, I say, 
x\t a mockbird matinee ! 
Not a hint of trade or town 
In the path one loiters down ; 
Not a thought of shops or desks 
Where the sun weaves arabesques, 
Fragile-fair and fairy-hued, 
In the wood's deep solitude ; 
Not a thing but God's pure air, 
Shine and shadow everywhere! 
Pick yourself a mossy seat 
In some dim and cool retreat, 
And with sighs of deep content 
50 



AT A MOCKBIRl) MATINEE. 

Settle down all indolent 

With your head against the trunk 

Of some hoary forest monk ; 

Bare your forehead while the breeze 

Plies its gentle ministries ; 

Close your eyes in rapture deep, 

Feel yourself grow sleepy — sleep — 

Then a-sudden — hist! a stir 
From some hidden chorister. 
As along a branching spray 
Where the sunbeams plash and play 
Fares he forth in modest coat. 
Flinging from his throbbing throat 
Clear cascades of tinkling song, 
Silver-sweet and subtle-strong; 
Strains of soul-compelling sound, 
Streams of symphony unbound, 
T.ures of lyric riotry. 
Miracles of melody. 
Soft at times, and sweet and low, 
As the slow and measured flow 
Of some placid river tide 
Down through meadows lush and wide 
Or from breast aflame, afire, 
Wild with passion, hot desire, 
51 



AT A MOCKBIRD MATINEE. 

High and high and high and higher- 
Leap the frantic notes until 
Fen and forest, haunt and hill, 
Pulse and pant and throb and thrill. 
Overawed and overcome 
B}^ the keen delirium ! 

Then as if such riotings 
Had consumed symphonic springs, 
For a solemn space, a hush ! 
But once more a rhythmic gush 
Flashing downward fleet and free. 
Mad with mirthful minstrelsy; 
Ravishing the raptured ear 
With a cadence crystal-clear 
As the lisp of limpid rain 
In autumnal fields of grain ; 
Stilling spirit strife and stress 
With a rune of restf ulness ; 
Purging blood and breast and brain 
Of their poignant pangs of pain ; 
Rousing noble aims and true 
In the slumbrous soul of you ! 

Ah ! a man can drive away 
Care and sorrow any day 
At a mockbird matinee! 

52 



TO A BLASTED PINE. 

Stout yeoman of the wood! Plebeian pine! 

Good honest friend of mine. 

In cordial fellowship I lift my hand 

To meet your rugged clasp. 

I do not ask what scurvy trick of wind, 
What weight of storm or spite of summer suns, 
What sustenance of mother soil denied, 
Made thee low-statured, stunted, dwarfed of mien, 
Whilst thy patrician brother rears his head 
High o'er his fellows, lordliest of the wood. 
And flaunts his princely purple in the sun! 

Nor do 1 care to know 
That thou canst boast as proud a sire as he — 
Some honored patriarch of the ancient wood, 

Whose sturdy sap 
Courses through every fiber of thy frame — 
For in the sight 

Of that clear-seeing and impartial Eye 
Which measures all things under sky or roof, 
53: 



TO A BLASTED PINE. 

Trees and their little earthborn cousins, men, 
By service, not by stature, thou art thrice 
More tall than thy patrician brother pine 
Who flaunts his princely purple in the sun ! 

For thou, near earth, dost spread a denser shade 
Where weary pilgrims and sun-stricken kine 
May rest them from the burning heat of noon ; 
And, bent to bear the brunt of wintry blasts. 
Dost grant a safer shelter to the birds, 
The little shivering orphans of the air ; 
Dost hold as much of healing in thy heart. 
And fling as fair a fruitage on tlie sward ! 

Would 1 might claim within my narrow sphere 
Of daily usefulness a service rare 
As thou in thine, stout yeoman of the wood, 
Plebeian pine ! Good honest friend of mine ! 



54 



THE THUNDERSTORM. 

Like hostile armies massing for the fray. 

Somber and dark, the westering storm clouds swarm 
And line on line in threatening array. 

Low-muttering, their grim battalions form. 
Then, like to wrath-dumb furies, black and still. 

They crouch one death-tense space with bated breath 
And hurl them headlong from their highmost hill 

To grapple in the fearful lists of death ! 
Hark! how their hoarse artillery rends the air 

With peal on peal and deafening crash on crash ! 
Hark ! how their shrill-lipped battle trumpets blare ! 

Look ! where their sheathless lightning-sabers flash ! 
Then faint, then fierce, and fiercer yet again — 
Listen ! a sweeping enfilade of rain ! 



55 



A CROSSROADS SCHOOLHOUSE. 

Two country roadways writhe and wind 

Like lizards lithe and lazy 
Down shaly hillsides, purple-pined, 

And clearings dim and hazy, 
Past shallow fords where brooks that run 

Through shoals of painted pebbles 
Blur robin songs with antiphon 

Of tuneful trills and trebles, 
Till deep within the woodland's dusk, 

As if to shun detection. 
They join and pass with meeting brusque 

To form an intersection. 

There, stained by storm and Summer's frown 

And warped by Winter's fingers, 
Dingy and dark and bare and brown, 

A country schoolhouse lingers, 
Just as it did when, days agone, 

Through shiny, steel-rimmed glasses. 
Professor Biglow beamed upon 

The crossroads lads and lasses. 
Who dulled the sweets of simple lives 

Above their blue-backed "spellers," 
Droning like bees in orchard hives 

When June the apple mellows. 

56 



A CROSSROADS SCHOOLHOUSE. 

These aisles which now no note disturbs 

Once rang with strugghng stammers 
Of youth and maid o'er nouns and verbs 

Of Smith's and Butler's grammars, 
Or haply caught the teacher's zest 

Of sudden satisfaction 
When some apt pupil led the rest 

And multiplied a fraction; 
And oft on Fridays heard the calls 

For essay, song, and story. 
While loud-lunged bumpkins stormed the walls 

With rustic oratory. 

Or caught, perchance, an exchange fleet 

Of glances laughter-laden 
When book or flower from seat to seat 

Passed to some anxious maiden. 
At times, along the drowsy ranks. 

There swept a chorused giggle 
When some bold youngster, caught at pranks. 

Would squirm and writhe and wriggle 
Within the master's brawny grasp, 

The while with footsteps jogging 
He circled round with groan and gasp 

Beneath a storm of flogging. 

57 



A CROSSROi\DS SCHOOLHOUSE. 

Ah, me! more fleet than rose leaves l)lown 

The years fly fast and faster! 
Full many a spring have daisies grown 

Above the kind old master; 
While we, who, struggling, strove to learn 

Beneath his admonition. 
Have long since grappled lessons stern 

Of Life's severe tuition; 
And some have caused strong hearts to thrill 

With eloquence and beauty. 
While some, unknown, are greater still 

Through simple lives of duty. 

.• 
And Time on many a joyous brow 

Has set his seal of sadness ; 
And many a heart is careworn now 

That once brimmed full of gladness ; 
Yet, stained by storm and Summer's frown 

And warped by Winter's fingers. 
Dingy and dark and bare and brown. 

A country schoolhouse lingers 
Just as it did when, days agone, 

Through shiny, steel-rimmed glasses, 
Professor Biglow beamed upon 

The crossroads lads and lasses, 

58 



THE HUSH AT HARVEST. 

How speaking seems this hush on wood and field ! 

As if the year, all suddenly grown mute 
Before such opulence of harvest yield. 

Gold-glinting sheaves, and orchards bowed with 
fruit. 

Had bared his head, and for a moment's space, 
From deeps of soul surcharged with gratitude, 

Upbreathed a prayer of thankfulness and praise 
Unto the Giver of all grace and good ! 



59 



THE WOOD GYPSY. 

In scarlet skirt and bodice gay, 

A bold-lipped, tawny thing. 
Comes brown October down the wood, 

A gypsy wandering. 

Her light limbs shame the leopard's lithe 

Abandonment of grace, 
Her dark eyes prison all the old 

Wild passion of her race. 

Crooning, she lifts her voice in song, 
Some strain of weird romance. 

And, timed to clashing tambour bells. 
Whirls in a wanton dance. 

x\nd ere the cadence dies away 

In echoes wild and sweet. 
The oaks and maples shower gold 

About her twinkling feet! 



60 



A HEALTH 10 OCTOBER 

Here's a health to October, dream-sandaled October, 
Queen of the quiet lands, dusk-eyed and sober — 
Long be the reign of her, gladsome and good ! 
The fay folk have kept her 
A golden-rod scepter, 
Have raised her a shrine in a still solitude, 
Where crisp, crinkled dead leaves, gold-dappled and 
red leaves, 

Mellowly, 
Yellowly, 
Flame in the wood! 

Long stilled is the singing, the silvery singing 
Of brooks that down June-lands tripped blithely, out- 
flinging 
Notes soft as the chimes of a clear-cadenced bell ; 
The quail's shrill insistence 
Has died in the distance ; 
Sabbatical silence wraps all in its spell, 
Save when through the hushes some brown-throated 
thrush's 

Lyrical 
Miracle 
Drifts from the dell. 
6i 



A HEALTH TO OCTOBER. 

Each dawning of day grants a bcx)n of wild fragrance, 
Borne in by light-hearted, light-footed wind-vagrants 
From haunts where the sumac and wood-aster gleam ; 
The morning light lusters 
The pendant grape clusters, 
Empurpling the glens by the dim-shadowed stream; 
Its light kisses strike some to soft shining, like some 
Shimmer}^ 
Memory 
Burning in dreams. 

So, a health to October, dream-sandaled October, 
Queen of the quiet lands, dusk-eyed and sober, 
Long be the reign of her, gladsome and good. 
And dark days not seek her ! 
Up, up with a beaker ! 
A health to October — I pledge her again ! 
A beaker of darkling, light-beaded and sparkling 
Muscadine 
Dusky wine- 
Bright to her reign ! 



62 



AND ONE HAD LOVE. 



AND ONE HAD LOVE. 

One man had riches for his gift, and knew 

The emptiness thereof; 
Another, where Fame's topmost summits lift 

All pigmy peaks above, 
Felt the keen pangs of lofty loneliness ; 

And one had love ! 

Down in the lowly valley paths of life 

His years were spent 
Where, far removed from moiling din and strife. 

Brook-song and bird-song blent 
Babbled of quiet things, of restful peace 

And deep content. 

Yet there was something in his cup of days 

Ineffably more sweet 
Than e'er he knew who in the giddy maze 

Of fortune set his feet 
Or quaffed Fame's goblet, wreathed with rue and bays 

And found it incomplete ! 



65 



LOVE'S HOUR. 

This is love's hour, sweetheart — mine and yours! — 
This fleeting hour the dreamer's soul deems best 

Of deepening dusk-time, when the sunset pours 
A warm cascade of color down the west. 

And tinkling strains of twilight troubadours 
Float from the poplar's crest. 

This is love's hour, sweetheart — gracious gift ! 

When, hand in hand, alone, 'tis ours to go 
Down purpling paths where white-lipped roses lift 

Their light-blown kisses in the starry glow, 
And o'er the sward the locust blossoms drift 

As soundlessly as snow ! 

The clashings keen, the clamors that infest 
The noon-wrapped city and its clanging mart, 

Subdued to silence all, have sunk to rest; 

No sounds discordant from the marshes start ; 

This is the hour the dreamer's soul deems best — 
This is love's hour, sweetheart ! 



66 



MEMORIAL DAY. 

Far in the gloom-wrapt wilderness, 

Where crooning pine trees wave. 
The wild wdnds wail a requiem 

Above a soldier's grave ; 
No gleaming shaft uprears its head 

To mark the nameless tomb. 
No comrades come with martial tread 

To deck the spot with bloom. 

Yet ever when the fields are clothed 

In richest hues of May, 
One w^oman holds within her heart 

A lone Memorial Day; 
And on that distant, unmarked grave 

In somber shadows set, 
She lays a wreath of fadeless love 

And garlands of regret. 



67 



BLOSSOMS OF MAY. 

Blossoms of May at your feet, my sweet. 

Dew-dappled blossoms of May ; 
Would that the lips of them, sweet, might repeat 

All I am yearning to say ! 
Yearning to say of a heart that is true. 
True unto you as the dawn to the dew ; 
Ah, could they whisper Love's secret to you. 
Then might I treasure them aye and for aye. 
Redolent, meadow-lent blossoms of May ! 

Blossoms of May at your feet, my sweet, 

Wind-rumpled blossoms of May ; 
Look how I pluck them and lift them to meet 

Smiles that are sunny as day ! 
Take them for pledge of a heart that is true. 
True unto you as the dawn to the dew. 
Sweet, let them whisper my secret to you. 
These were Love's messengers ever and aye. 
Dutiful, beautiful blossoms of Mav! 



68 



CASTLE AND CABIN. 
I. 
A MELLOWED light tlirough stained-glass windows falls 
On marble stairways and on stately halls, 
With old rare portraits on the frescoed walls ; 
But silence reigns and sadness and a dearth 
Of woman's laughter and of childish mirth. 

When Love's a stranger, what's a palace worth? 

II. 
A low-roofed cabin and a rude-built floor, 
Pink-petaled roses romping round the door, 
And God's unfettered sunlight streaming o'er ; 
The happy housewife at her sewing sings, 
The vine-clad porch with baby laughter rings. 

With Love for guest, pray, who would sup with kings? 



(X, 



SONG OF A SUMMER'S DAY. 

O, it's gold of the meadows and blue of the sky — 

Was ever a June day rarer, 
With a breath of the pines from the purple inclines 

And the breeze for a balsam bearer? 
O, it's gold of the meadows and blue of the sky — 

Was ever a June day rarer? 

O, it's gold of your tresses and blue of your eye. 

Was ever a charm denied you? 
And was ever a bliss that is equal to this 

Out here in the fields beside you ? 
O, it's gold of your tresses and blue of your eye, 

Was ever a charm denied vou? 



70 



CARITA. 

Do you ever dream, Carita, of a twilight long ago, 
When the stars rained silver splendor from the skies 
of Mexico? 

When the moonbeams on the plaza traced a shimmer- 
ing brocade, 

And the fountain's tinkling tumult seemed a rippling 
serenade ? 

When the velvet-petaled pansies, lifting light lips in 

the gloom. 
Breathed their yearning for the night-winds in a 

passion of perfume? 

When in soft cascades of cadence from a garden dim 

and far 
Came the mournful mellow music of a murmurous 

guitar ? 

Years have flown since then, Carita, fleet as orchard 

blooms in May, 
But the hour that fills my dreaming — was it only 

yesterday ? 

71 



CARITA. 



Stood we two a space in silence while the southern sun 

sHpped down. 
And the gray dove, Dusk, with brooding pinions wrapt 

the little town. 



Then you raised your tender glances, darkly, dreamily 

to mine, 
And my pulses clashed like cymbals in a rhapsody 

divine, 



And the pent-up fires of longing burst their prison's 

weak control. 
And in wild hot words came leaping madly from my 

burning soul ; 

Wild hot words that told of passion hitherto but half- 
expressed ; 

And I caught you close, Carita, clasped you, strained 
you, to my breast. 



While the twilight-purpled heavens reeled around us 

as we stood, 
And a tide of bliss swept surging through the currents 

of our blood! 

72 



CARITA. 

And I spent my soul in kisses, crushed upon your scar- 
let mouth ! 

Carita! Senorita! Dusk-eyed daughter of the 
South ! 

It was well that Fate should part us ; it was well my 

path should lead 
Back to slopes of high endeavor — nay, and was it well, 

indeed ? 

You were of a tropic people, steeped in roses and ro- 
mance, 
Lovers of the gay fiesta, music, and the mazy dance! 

1 was from a northern country, scion of that colder 
race 

Who have missed the most of living in their foolish 
phantom-chase ! 

You have wed some swarth}- Southron ; long have 

learned his every whim, 
Rolled cigarros, poured the mescal, sung the Southern 

songs for him ; 

I have fought my fight and triumphed ; all the world 

repeats my name ; 
But I prize one hour of loving more than fifty years 

of fame ! 

73 



CARITA. 

It was but a summer madness that possessed me, men 

will hold, 
That the mellow moon bewitched me with its wizardry 

of gold. 

As they will ! But oft, when wearied of the world, I 
close my eyes. 

And in dreams drift back where stars rain silver splen- 
dor from the skies, 

And I clasp you close, Carita, while each vibrant pulse 

is thrilled 
With a low and mournful cadence that shall nevermore 

be stilled. 



74 



THE CONQUEROR. 

One built about his heart a mighty wall, 
Thick-moated, bastioned, ample-based, and tall. 

And laughed secure at Love's first bugle-blast : 
Scoffed at the next ; but at the third and last 

The thick wall trembled, crumbled, crashed, and fell 
Love leaped the breach and stormed the citadel ! 



75 



ONE GOLDEN DAY. 

Deep in her casket of old treasured things 
September hoards for us one golden day ! 

Ah me ! how joy made murmurous the way 

And young Love lured us on with shining wings ! 

A day to dream of ! What if dreaming brings 
No shimmer of lost other days ? For aye 

Deep in her casket of old treasured things 
September hoards for us one golden day! 

What though the swarming years with waspish stings 
Have brought us smarting sorrows? Though astray 

Youth's rosy feet forsook our wanderings? 
Not all is lost, for smiling, we can say : 

"Deep in her casket of old treasured things 
September hoards for us one golden day !" 



76 



WHERE LOVE HOLDS SWAY. 

Tis always summer where Love holds sway, 
Though skies be glooming and clouds hang grav 

For a glint of June 

Lights a wintry noon 
If Love be lord in the heart, I say ! 

'Tis always summer where Love holds sway 
Though sad rains croon down the desolate day ; 

Though a wild wind shrills 

Through the haunted hills 
December harbors a glimpse of May ! 

'Tis always summer where Love holds sway. 
Glad hearts heed not what the wind-lips say, 

For if Love be king 

They are like to sing 
With a rollicking lilt in the roundelay ! 



77 



BURN AS NOCHES. SENORITA. 

Slowly from the southern sk\ 

All the silver stars are fading- ; 
Tremulously drift and die 

Sounds of distant serenading ; 
Yearning moon and sighing sea. 
Breast to breast, impassionedly. 
Cling in close farewell : ah me ! 
Moon and sea part ; sweet, must we ? 
Buenas noches, Senorita ! 

Wooing night-winds long have left 

Pink-lipped petals spent with kisses 
Homing fireflies have reft 

Oleander hearts of blisses ; 
Swiftly down the garden close. 
Like a fragrant whisper, goes 
White moth lover from his rose ; 
Rose-queen regnant ! Adios ! 

Buenas noches, Senorita ! 



78 



TO A RED-HAIRED MAIDEN. 

Decorous damsel I Pink of paragons I 
I sing the glory of thy tawny tresses 
Blown by a wild wind's wantoning caresses 

About thy brow in arabesques of bronze ! 

Say, did the garish flame of wintry dawns 

Stream on thy head from the sky's far recesses? 
Didst filch thy fire from autumn wildernesses 

Or ruddy splendor from envermeiled lawns? 

T know but this : that it accentuates 

Thy blue- veined temples' white transparency 
And frames thy face — a lily, snowy fair ; 
But ah ! that the inexorable Fates 

In Freedom's noon should thus imprison me 
And bind me captive with a strand of hair ! 



79 



AN AUTUMN LURE. 

A LURE from the lands of autumn 

And a prospect rare unfolds 
Of the dusky wine of the muscadine 

And the maple's flaunting gold; 
A lure from the lands of autumn, 

And who could such lure withstand? 
Through the keen, crisp air let us blithely fare- 

Carissima, your hand ! 

For out where the sumacs beckon 

With beacons that glimmer red, 
And a murmurous music wakens 

In the pine leaves overhead, 
Comes a stir to the vibrant heart-strings 

While the soul from its care leash slips, 
And your eyes seek mine with a warmth divine- 

Carissima, your lips ! 



80 



^.V OCTOBER SONG. 

When October flings her banners 

Over all the russet hills 
And the thrush-choirs lift hosannas 

In a thousand tuneful trills. 
When the summer-haunted heather 

Swims in mellow, yellow haze, 
Let us wander, love, together 

Through the golden autumn ways ! 

Let us take the paths that bring us 

Where the sunlight gilds the sod, 
And the bandit breezes fling us 

Fragrances of golden-rod; 
Let us breathe the old, sweet story 

Where the sumac shimmers red 
And the maple leaves, in glory 

Flaming, flutter overhead. 

Let us pray when Life's October 

Comes to dim the summer flowers. 
Waking thoughts half bright, half sober 

Deep within this soul of om-s. 
That it brings Hope's sun, dispersing 

Cares that may encloud the land, 
That it find us, love, traversing 

Sunset meadows, hand in hand ! 
8i 



A ROSE OF YESTERDAY. 

Within a book of Browning's, where he weaves 
Symphonic sunshine for our winter's gray, 

I found, close-pressed between the songful leaves, 
A rose of yesterday. 

Time's thievish touch has robbed it of its scent. 

No mid-year luster lingers in its leaves ; 
And yet to me 'tis richly redolent 

Of bygone summer eves. 

The moonlit glamours of a night in June 
Stream, as I dream, about me mellowly, 

The lisp of leaves, the cricket's low bassoon, 
Waken again for me. 

Just for one fleeting space I catch the gleam 
Of soulful glances, surf of billowy lace. 

Of locks, cascading down an auric stream, 
About a flowerlike face. 

A flowerlike face, a lily gloriiied 

With Love's impassioned pureness. strangely sweet ; 
And once again my soul, a pulsing tide, 

Lies, throbbing, at her feet. 
82 



A ROSE OF YESTERDAY. 



Trembling, from off her bosom's heaving snows. 
She plucks one rosebud, wet with twilight dew ; 

"Know, love" — to me — ''that with this summer rose 
I give my heart to you !" 



Ah, me ! ah, me ! that all Youth's golden charms 
Are for one joyous June decreed to last ! 

That I should reach outstretched, imploring arms 
To a relentless past I 

Gone with their blossoms are the days that were, 
About me falls December's gloom and gray ; 

And in ni}^ hand one lone remembrancer, 
A rose of vesterdav. 



83 



A LOVER'S QUESTION. 

You plucked a purple pansy from its bed 
And pressed its perfumed petals to your lips. 
And then with rosy, ruthless finger tips 
You tore it into fragments, shred by shred. 
And flung it from you, odorless and dead. 

Pray, if Love's flower were yours to pluck, perchance, 
Would you uplift it for a space and press 
Its petals to your lips in brief caress. 

Then fling it down in sudden petulance 

As if no longer worthy of your glance ? 



84 



A DREAM IN THE DUSK. 

Ofttimes, outworn with warring in this strife 
That men call Life. 



This hotly raging fever of unrest 
At battle in mv breast, 



When the keen clash of da}-, its clamors rude, 
Sink, half subdued. 

Dulled to a low and nuiffied monotone, 
I dream alone 

While Twilight's fingers shatter one by one 
The roses of the sun, 

And lightly over purpling copse and hill 
The fading petals spill ; 

x\nd truant thought on Hermes' sandals speeds 
As Memory leads 

Where snowy dogwoods star the dusky shades 
Of tranquil glades, 

85 



A DREAM IN THE DUSK. 

And shy, brown-dimpled meadow brooks trip fleet 
On silver feet, 

Past league on sunny league — till Fancy sees. 
Shut in with trees, 

Green-girdled by a dim-aisled garden place 
Whose shadows race 

Where slim crape myrtles strew the sward below 
With blossomed snow, 

And brown bees balance on light lily stalks 
Beside the walks, 

A quiet Southern country seat, that stands 
As if with hands 

Outstretching welcome to each wayworn guest. 
Bidding him pause and rest. 

All things about the place bespeak repose. 
Broad porticoes. 



White, ample wings, wide hallways, cool and clean, 
^en. 
86 



And shutters green. 



A DREAM IN THE DUSK. 

The dawnlight smites the rooftree as of old 
With shafts of gold ; 

At noon from beds of sweet, old-fashioned pinks 
The cricket clinks ; 

The far, faint fiiitings of the mocking bird 
At dusk are heard. 

When through the gloom each swaying jasmine seems 
A star in dreams. 

Twined to the trellis honeysuckles swing. 
And coil and cling, 

Flinging thick shadows on the hall below. 
Where long ago, 

Within a quaint-carved armchair, used to sit, 
And rock and knit, 

A wee old woman with soft locks of snow 
And smiles, I know. 

Such as the saints must wear in Paradise ; 
Her gentle eyes 

87 



A DREAM IN THE DUSK. 

Beaming fond blessings on the urchins gay, 
Who romped at play 

Down the dim pathways of the gardenside, 
All happy-eyed, 

Routing with upraised hands and sudden cries 
The dappled butterflies ; 



Seeking the swallow's fragile house of leaves 
Beneath the eaves ; 



Chasing the lizard to his cell of stone, 
Mockine the bumble's drone ; 



Finding fresh pastime for each restless mood 
Of youngsterhood. 

Would God that feet, grown older now, might press 
Those paths of pleasantness 

That once they knew ere, truantly, they turned 
Worldward and learned 



How lying are the luring lips that call, 
How poor and small 



A DREAM IN THE DUSK. 

Tl'ie little laurels that Life's battlefield 
x\t last may yield ! 

Would God that ears, sore-sickened of the blare 
And tumult, where, 

'Neath clacking wheels of Commerce, whirring round, 
Men's souls are ground 

To golden powder for the price of bread ; 
Where Truth seems dead. 

Sincerity a shadows simple Faith 
A formless wraith — 

Might catch the changing cadence of the pines 
On far inclines, 

The quail's shrill pipe at dawn ; might list again 
The croon of rain 

In autumn twilights, and the rhythmic beat 
Of tinkling sleet 

Clink on the pane, while up the chimney wide 
A ruddy tide 

89 



A DREAM IN THE DUSK. 

Of flame sweeps surging, and each pulse is thrilled 
At sound of voices stilled ! 

Would God that eyes, which latterly have known 
But streets of stone, 

Might glimpse the quiet beauty of some wood's 
Deep solitudes, 

The changing hues of summer dusks and dawns ; 
Star-lighted lawns: 

Mad miracles of color springtime throws 
Athwart an orchard close ! 

That sordid souls, forgetting place or pelf. 
Stripped bare of self. 

In Heaven's all-cleansing sunlight purged again 
Of smirch and stain. 

Might claim the wholesome candor and the truth 
They knew in youth ! 



90 



TEXAS. 



TEXAS. 

This is no stripling, sirs, no yokel youth. 
This bronze-limbed Hercules of giant girth ; 
This is the stoutest-thewed, the stanchest-souled 
In all the brawny brotherhood of States ! 

Time was, perchance, when, indolent, outstretched. 
Sprawled like a lazy urchin at his ease. 
He dozed and dreamed the drows)' hours away 
Beside the shallows of some singing stream. 
Or else, upblinking at a Southern sun. 
Watched while a snowy squadronry of cloud 
Waged mimic Trafalgars on skyey seas. 
His was the fragrance of the fallow field, 
The burst of bird-song and the ample air. 
Purple expanses of primeval pine. 
And undulant wide reaches of the plain. 
But, with the lapse of adolescent years. 
Through his slow pulses swept a sudden thrill. 
The quick, keen impulse of an ichor new 
That stirred his slumbrous soul to stinging life ; 
And swift off-flinging from his lithesome limbs 
Inaction's shackles and the gyves of ease, 

93 



TEXAS. 

Up to the stalwart stature of a man 
Leaped he, erect, and Godlike in his mien. 
And looking worldward with a questing eye 
Saw where his kindred commonwealths had swept 
Far past him on the stretching slopes until 
Dim showed their outlines on the upper steeps ! 

Thrilled by the thunders of their Titan tread, 
Stung with a sense of sluggish slothfulness, 
Waked to the wanton wastefulness of years, 
He turned his back to ease and dull content 
And, upward faring, set his steadfast step 
Straight toward the peaks of high emprise, nor breathed 
A half -regret for deedless days forsworn ; 
Nor paused he in his pilgrimage until 
High on a proud plateau of aims fulfilled 
For a brief breathing-space he stood and swept 
World-w^ays with gaze far-reaching in its scope ; 
Saw the dusk pine lands, that were wont to lie 
Flecked with the saffron sheen of summer suns 
And flinging lures of balsam to the breeze. 
Freighting the creaking cars and groaning ships 
With the upyielding of eon's growth ; 
Looked on the prairies, girt with golden sheaves, 
Where full-flanked cattle stalked in sleek content ; 
Saw the old haunts, which erst were overgrown 

94 



TEXAS. 

With brier and bramble and where roamed at will 
All countless crawling creatures of the wild. 
Ribboned with streets of stretching steel that led 
To city steeples signaling the skies ; 
Heard the low croon of commerce and the hum 
Of whirring engines and the lisp of looms, 
Panting of pistons and the strenuous stir 
Of keels, outveering from the harborsides ! 

Then with fixed purpose and a large resolve 
Upward again and upward turned his tread 
Forward and starward to the highmost peaks ! 



95 



MAR 4 1907 



